


Transference of Martyrdom

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, POV Abel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Abel thinks about his decision to stay in the shadows, and the consequences for those around him.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Transference of Martyrdom

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creator of Trinity Blood

**Transference of Martyrdom**

He didn't want to be a saint. Or a hero. Or anything else remotely noticeable. He'd not even have been a priest, if Caterina hadn't needed him to be. If he hadn't needed to be officially a member of the clergy in order to be by her side. But he'd promised to stay with her, to fight beside her, and being a member of her church staff was a part of that. Besides, having thought a great deal about God and redemption, and his own past, he knew he needed to do it. And Lilith...Lilith would have wanted him to, though whether to give him solace, or teach him to recognize the love for the world that she'd always sworn he had, he wasn't sure. Perhaps both. But it didn't matter. Caterina had needed him at her side, so he'd become Father Nightroad to better fulfill his promise.

Getting recognition for it, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. He didn't want recognition. When Caterina first mentioned it, when she'd wanted to tell everyone how he'd saved her and ask her father, the pope, to honor him, he'd refused. She'd asked why, and they'd had a long discussion about his reasons. More than one, actually.

He didn't tell her the truest reason. The reason that slept in his heart, or woke him from his dreams at night. He didn't tell her that he had no wish to be like his brother. Not any more than he'd already become, at any rate.

He remembered how they'd been, as children. He'd been the violent, destructive one. Cain had been the gentle one, the peacemaker. His temper rarely ever showed. Always a smile, always understanding, even in the worst of situations. Accepting destiny and moving on. Accepting his birthright and fulfilling it, while still somehow managing to believe that his own will could forge a future he desired. For both of them if need be. But now...now he was the gentle one, learning to smile and laugh while taking care of the girl growing into a woman at his side. It was Cain who had become the enemy of the world, the monster of children's nightmares. He was the one projecting love, understanding, accepting things and moving forward. And it was hard, far harder than he'd thought.

It was difficult enough, to look in the mirror and see how much he and his brother had changed places. But Cain had, in addition to being the peacemaker, been a center of attention, the shining golden example. Abel didn't think he had the courage to endure that, as well. As it was, he woke from nightmares still sometimes confused at the change. At the way gold and silver had switched places, switched destinies. He didn't want to take his brother's place on a pedestal.

He didn't tell Caterina that. She knew a little, as they'd taken turns for the first few years alternating on who was waking who from nightmares, but not that. He hadn't told her the full truth about his brother, or himself.

Instead, he gave her his second best reason. He didn't feel he deserved attention or praise. Everything he did, he did in atonement for his sins. Every life saved was put against millions taken. Every good deed done was a penance for things her history books recounted in tones of horror. Everything was done to repent for crimes that still, after nine hundred years, tortured his heart. He was a sinner, a monster, a nightmare come to life. It was enough that he did what he did. He needed no recognition for it. He didn't want respect for it, no more than he wanted people to respect him for cleaning his face and wiping away the traces of his transformation when he had to call upon the Crusnik.

Caterina heard him out, but didn't agree with him. In her mind, in her words, God forgave repentant sinners. Surely he deserved more than a place in the shadows. To which he'd once replied that, in comparison, Paul had been a saint even before the conversion on the road to Damascus. They had, eventually, silently agreed to disagree on his status as a martyr, or a monster. And though the passing years made it easier for him to bear her respect, and that of the men and women who gathered around them in the AX, still he wished to remain in the shadows. He'd felt Caterina's disapproval, and her unhappiness, as she moved into the church and climbed to power, and so he'd presented his third reason to her.

No matter what she thought of him personally, there was no question that his other form was terrifying. Monstrous, and terrible. The destructive power residing within the Crusnik would scare anyone. It was difficult enough hiding his true nature when no one knew him. Even hidden in the shadows there were rumors, after the first few years, of the Vatican's secret weapon. The monster, the demon even vampires feared. If he were to accept praise, or honor, or any recognition, his name would be known. And sooner or later, someone was bound to see him in his other form. Or worse, bound to see him change, to know beyond doubt that Father Nightroad and the Crusnik were one. And that, he was convinced, would be catastrophe.   


He reminded her that even she'd run screaming from him, the first time. Well, maybe not screaming, but certainly scared out of her mind. She'd accepted him because he'd spoken so gently to her, then. And because he'd killed her pursuers, and she was old enough to know a savior when she saw one, even if he did look rather demonic. If he became a symbol of the church and then were discovered to be the vampire's nightmare, the backlash against the church would be tremendous. Precarious relationships, both for her personally and for the Vatican at large, would be damaged by the knowledge that the church venerated such a being.

That argument at least partially convinced her. But she did, every now and then, point out that she had accepted him fairly quickly. And that if he had a knack for being frightening, he also had a knack for soothing the fear, and presenting a gentle hand. Terrible as the Crusnik was, the man behind it was one that most people with an ounce of sense would find worth knowing. As the AX team slowly gathered around her, she found more examples of that truth to hand him, in Vaclav's kindness, the Professor's easy acceptance. Sister Kate's offer of tea, to wash away the taste of copper and smoke after a battle. And later, Noelle and Hugue and Esther. Friends he came to love, and hold dear and trust with his life. Even wild, unpredictable Leon, and cool, precise Tres, felon and machine that they were.

He appreciated the sentiment, but knew even before then that it was still impossible, and so, when the questions became too sharp, he played his final argument.

Whatever public opinion about his other form might be, whatever the Vatican itself thought about it, his past was far more disconcerting. He had come to the Vatican, and to her service, with no explanation. His name, the fact he'd saved her life, and grudgingly admitted to a birth in Albion. She knew why, knew a little of his past, and knew he'd left out a great deal in what he told her.

Being an icon meant that people looked into things like that. Looked for history, for past escapades, whether to glorify or vilify. And if even one person discovered the truth about his past....

Discovered outside the church, the public outrage would make the revelation of his Crusnik form seem like a celebration instead. If it were ever discovered that he had been the Enemy of the World, the things he had done, the fact that he had been, indirectly at least, responsible for the death of the Dark Holy Woman, there would be uproar. In fact, the people might very well pull the Vatican down around the clergy. Certainly, they'd demand explanations, and reparations for what would only be considered a blasphemous lapse in judgment.

Whether discovered within or without the Vatican, there would be a heavy reckoning. And they'd both be condemned as blasphemers, and made an example of. She would most likely be stripped of her position, her support, her power and her home. In worst case, she'd be sentenced to trial as a witch, consorting with a monster, and probably lose her life. As for him....

He really had no idea what it would take to kill him, aside from beheading. He also had no doubt the Inquisitorial department would make a concerted effort to find out. And that it would take far too long. At least for him. In the dark nights, the nights after he woke from his worst nightmares, he sometimes thought he deserved the suffering they would heap upon him. But he also knew that there were some situations he couldn't control the Crusnik for, and being slowly tortured to death was probably one of them.

Predictably, Caterina wasn't concerned about her own status. Her sense of both honor and duty were far too strong for that. However, she did concede his point about the Inquisition, particularly when her brother took over. And she certainly had no desire to see him arrested and tormented. He knew she'd finally agreed with him, however reluctantly, when she'd woken him from an anguished sleep with the remark that he had a point. He suffered enough in his nightmares, without bringing them to life.

And so they'd built their personas, to protect him from exposure. He'd created a mask of foolishness, carelessness, and absent-minded irresponsibility. He dropped things, lost or faked losing things, bought candy like a child. He really did like sweets, but even so...if it hadn't been for his metabolism as it was, he'd have made himself sick. As she reminded him how to smile, and taught him how to truly laugh, he incorporated it into his mask of childish naivete, often crossing near the borders of outright stupidity.

For her part, she donned a mask of amused and frequently exasperated tolerance. By the time she'd become cardinal, their relationship was well established. She treated him like a mix of friend and rather irritating toddler. They made it a point, at least once a week, to be caught with him whining like an indignant child, and her treating him like a foolish youth, at best. He tripped over his robes and she sighed at him. He lost or dropped things and she sighed louder, or mocked him. She let it be known, or at least guessed, that she considered him an old friend, and perhaps, slightly reliable, or useful, but also found him troublesome, and just barely worth more than the headaches he caused.

He was one of the most traveled priests in the AX. They always made sure to make appropriate arrangements. Always a partner, suited to his needs. Anything that was likely to become public knowledge was handled by partnering him with Gunslinger, or Noelle, or even Wordsworth. When Esther joined them she also became one of his 'public partners' as Caterina called them. People who could take all the credit for whatever happened. Someone who could take the pedestal in his place. Someone to direct the spotlight to. Tres reflected the glory back to Caterina herself, Esther became a symbol, Wordsworth and Noelle used their notoriety for their own purposes.

Semi-visible situations, which might or might not become public later, or were public but without too much scandal, and they assigned him Leon, or just Kate. Kate of course, was reliable and discreet, and never caused any problems one way or the other. She was never in the spotlight, but that could be dismissed with the knowledge that she was a ship's captain, with far too much to do. For Leon, any recognition was a bonus, a ticket to easier conditions and less jail time. And the notoriety didn't hurt either, in a convict's world.

The worst ones, the ones that Caterina didn't dare let come to light, he handled alone. He always knew what it meant when she gave him an assignment to go solo. Absolute discretion. The knowledge that he would most certainly have to use his powers, and she was giving him her silent blessing. There were to be no records, and as little evidence, physical or otherwise, as possible. Those he took silently and solemnly.

It wasn't always a perfect mask. Sometimes, something would catch him off guard. Sometimes, he'd find someone in pain, or confusion, too great for him to ignore, and the mask of inanity would slip, as he soothed the wounds. Esther was a good example in that. Sometimes something would anger him, slice him to the core, allowing the red rage of his past self to slip forward. Then he'd reveal the lethal violence, born in him by his childhood. Or his own self-loathing, the things he had done, or had regretted not preventing. Or things that...very rarely, mirrored things that had been done to him. There were moments when something sliced to his soul and evoked, not anger but pain. Wounds and scars induced to bleed once more. Moments when the mask slipped, to reveal his scars, his sins, and his penance.

He never regretted his decision. He belonged in the shadows, both as priest and Crusnik. But as time wore on and he watched, he did see the consequences of his choice, and it brought an ache of a different kind to his soul.

He watched Caterina grow from child to the Woman of Steel. Of course, she'd not been innocent even when he first met her. What little innocence she might have had before that night had drowned in the blood of others. But for his sake, and his silence, she took up the battle against the world's enemy, against the darkness. She was their banner, and he knew well how much it cost her. It forced her to put her child brother on the Pope's throne. Forced her to make all the hard choices, just as he had once made them. Forced her, sometimes, to stain her hands with blood. He prevented that as much as he could, but even so...his silence cost her her child's faith, and some of her serenity. And all he could do was put the pieces back together, and soothe her through it, providing the silent reminder of why she did it, and that it was possible to survive the ruthless transformation of purpose and understanding. And it hurt, knowing that she thanked him for it, for the little support he could provide, in a terrible crucible that was partially his own doing.

The Professor became a man of science, watched with guarded care for his inventions. It helped both their masks that he frequently used Abel as a test subject, which he did mostly to ensure that his creations wouldn't blow up on contact with the Crusnik. But behind closed doors they shared a quiet friendship, and an easy trust. He knew that William really did enjoy making his little devices, but he did wish the man could get proper respect for them, rather than playing the Vatican's mad scientist.

Noelle caused him almost more pain than any other. She received credit as a formidable warrior, and she was, but she of all of them, understood least why he had to avoid recognition. He saw it, far too late, that she'd become fond of him, loved him. And as she cared for him, she tried to draw him from the shadows. He sometimes wondered, if she hadn't cared so much, if she would have survived the fight in Barcelona. Or, if the enemy hadn't known him so well. As far as he was concerned, until he learned who was truly behind them, Noelle's death and his survival were proof that he should never, ever step into the public eye. Behind closed doors, where the masks were dropped, he told Caterina that the enemy knew him, and had baited him to keep him out of the catastrophe zone. No matter that Barcelona had been part of a terrorist plot, he still felt the weight of it, that edge of guilt that Noelle had died for him. He told no one, not even Caterina, that in their last day she had tried to drag him into the light. Or that they had parted badly, her last emotions around him one of hurt and rejection, when he refused her attempts and her confession of care.

If Noelle had understood least why he stayed in the shadows, Esther perhaps understood it best. Certainly, she understood as well as the Professor and Caterina did. And he couldn't help but think, as their partnership continued, that it was _why_ she'd become so ensconced at his side. He hid in the shadows, and she stepped fully into the light, directing the attention from him as they became absorbed into ever more volatile tasks.

He watched her gain credit for the Carthage maneuvers. She deserved it, of course, befriending Ion and helping him shut down the Ibilis. Then the Empire. They both knew he'd been the one to find the shelter when the Earl of Memphis was framed. She didn't know the Empress was his sister, but he caught her glances over the days they stayed, as she noticed the casual, informal relationship between him and the most powerful woman in the Empire. And yet, when the reports were all turned in and archived, they portrayed a remarkable effort by a determined young woman, and he'd dropped out of the picture.

He watched her as she accepted the nomination as the Saint of Istvan. He knew she didn't like it. It was clear, from the set of her shoulders and the speech she gave, and her obvious uneasiness. And yet, she took the burden as easily as she could, accepting the weight.

Watching her, he couldn't help but feel both sorrow and guilt. He knew that shielding him had forced her to carry a heavy burden. She was the newest member of the AX, still learning everything she needed to know. More than that, she wasn't even an adult. Barely fifteen when they met. She wasn't old enough that she she should have been forced to carry such burdens. Even Caterina had been older when she'd begun to assume true power and responsibility. For that matter, even he and Cain had been older. It reminded him uncomfortably of his sister, Empress of the Methuselah and forever fifteen, trapped in a position of responsibility because he couldn't take it.  


He watched from his position as her bodyguard, listened in the darkened nights when they were alone, and she could speak to him as her mentor and friend. The position she stood in was a painful one, at times. Trying to find words to guide and encourage others, words that could shape the fate of nations, when she confessed she still wasn't all that sure of her own heart. Being portrayed as the victorious Lady Saint, even more, a vampire killer, when some of her best friends were Methuselah. When he himself had taught her to respect all living beings equally. When she felt that the events of Istvan had been, at best, a sad tragedy of misunderstanding. And as for the events surrounding her official proclamation...it left wounds, wounds only time could heal.

He saw the weight on her young shoulders, and knew, terribly, what Cain had really gone through. But where he did his best to support her, he wasn't sure Cain had ever had anyone. She had the AX, Cain had stood alone. Watching her told him how great the crushing burden had been for his brother, and made him even more aware of his own inability to carry it. But still...

He felt grief, and guilt, watching her take the burden he should have. The burden of leadership, the burden of the spotlight. He knew it hurt her, and he felt sorrow. Felt each wound to her heart, each time she struggled, as a blow to his conscience, and his soul. He longed to take the burden of it from her, to tell her it was all right. To tell Caterina to let it go.

But Seth had told him the truth. That the Contra Mundi, the enemy, was in fact their brother. That the monster they'd inadvertently created was still alive.

Even if he wanted to step forward, that made it impossible. Cain's existence brought the madness too close to the surface. Even without knowing the truth, Caterina saw that. As did the Professor. And knowing what he might have to do, he not only shrank into the shadows, he was prepared to disappear entirely. Only knowing that he had no idea where to go, or how to go about it, prevented him from making his break right there.

*****ToM*****

Abel sighed, coming out of his half doze. His gaze turned to the window, where the lights of Londinium were coming into sight. Soon he'd be there, dealing with his mission, hopefully getting some information he could use. Then he'd join up with Esther.

Esther. Abel leaned his head against the window with a sigh. They'd only just recovered from their mission in Istvan, far more than she should have had to deal with, and already she was on another high-profile assignment. Liaison between Vatican and Albion, and the Pope's escort to Queen Bridgette II's final hours.

He sighed again, a small, sad smile crossing his lips as he recalled the thoughts that had consumed him before dozing. It should be him, taking the weight of this mission. Him facing down the reporters, trying to remember all the politically correct phrases. And yet, it wasn't, couldn't be.

He shook away the thoughts, brushing them back as he ran a hand through his disordered silver hair. Esther was a strong, brave young woman. She had a formidable, and sometimes rash, temper but she was learning. Surely she'd be fine. Still...

He wished he could free her. Wished he could be the one shielding her from all that attention, not the other way around. He'd wished the same for Caterina, when she'd entered Vatican politics all those years ago to stop the Order. But it wasn't possible.

He rose and turned to look fully out the window, trying to clear his mind as he prepared for his next mission.

Maybe, someday, he'd be able to make it up to them, to repay the sacrifice of safety and innocence he'd asked of them. Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one-shot that popped into my head while reading the beginning of the Albion arc in the manga.


End file.
